Call of the Moon
by shadowkitty723
Summary: After the Final Battle, Bill Weasley was dragged away into the night, never to be seen again. Now, a year later, Percy claims they can get him back. He, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Tonks and Fleur now journey deep into the territory of one Fenrir Grayback to find their friend, husband, and brother. OC/Bill, OC story, so don't like, don't read!
1. Chapter 1

The moment she saw her, Hermione knew it was over.

Admittedly, she had suspected it for quite a while by this point, but still, the other girl was definitely confirmation.

Ron whimpered in fear, cowering behind her. Neville was silent, Percy uncomfortable. Tonks, Ginny, and Fleur, on the other hand, pushed past the men to glare at the girl in disgust.

"Who are you?" Hermione finally managed, the words barely squeaking out of her dry throat. She swallowed, hard, and tried again. "What do you want?"

"What do I _want_?" the other girl repeated, a mocking smile spreading across her face. Her golden eyes swept over the group, assessing and cold. "Well, to start with, a bit of respect would be nice. But I guess we'll just have to work up to it. For now," she continued, ignoring the other women's glares. "I'll settle with you…" She paused, gesturing pointedly to Neville. "_You_," she added, her voice dripping with disgust as she glanced at Ron. "And all of _you,"_ she finished, smirking at the furious girls. "Dead at Fenrir's feet." She paused for dramatic effect, then continued brightly, "Questions, anyone?"

Yep, Hermione thought disappointedly. It was over.

o~O~o

It all began a few months ago, when the final battle was finally over. The war had been won, the Dark Lord destroyed, and all was well with the world.

Well, as well as it could ever be for the so-called Golden Trio and their families.

After Harry's death, things had really gotten bad. It was cancer, the Healers said, in its terminal stages, and he was too far gone for their help. Luna committed suicide a few weeks later, unwilling to live without the love of her life.

Ginny and Neville married quickly after that, as did Ron and Hermione, but Tonks had been left alone, like so many, a widower of what would be known as the greatest war in all of magical history.

But alone among them all, it was Fleur who suffered the most. Her husband was not dead, but neither was he there, with them, reveling in the delights of the Dark Lord's defeat. He had been taken, stolen away by the werewolves as they retreated, another spoil of war. He had fought, desperately, but what Fenrir Grayback wanted, he got, and as far as he was concerned, Bill was his. So she remained, alone with their child, mourning what amounted to, in her eyes, the death of her faithful husband.

But when Percy came to the Burrow that night, to celebrate the one year anniversary of Voldemort's defeat, he looked into her eyes and told her that Bill was still alive.

They were all shocked, though Remus had his doubts, but Fleur burst into tears of joy. It was already a done deal, in her mind – her husband home, her family reunited. As soon as they could get Bill home, everything would be right again.

It was the action of his return that was the difficult part.

Somehow, Percy had managed, through his job in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, to find the coordinates of Grayback's holdings – an unassumingly small werewolf town by the name of Lyall, somewhere in the middle of the French wilderness.

Of course, typical of their luck, it was said to be the most protected wolf holding in all of Europe. Also, it turned out to be a wee bit difficult to walk in and demand an audience with one of the most powerful Alphas of the seven tribes.

Pity they didn't learn that little tidbit until after they were arrested.

Still, they gathered a group together for a rescue mission. Fleur signed at once, determined to find her husband and bring him home. Ginny was right behind her, her bag already on her shoulder, dragging Neville along behind. Despite her husband's reservations, Tonks came too, out of a sincere desire for her best friend's husband's return. It was only after careful deliberation, and much consultation of books, that Hermione agreed to come, her many degrees in language landing her the position of werewolf-human liaison. Ron, of course, only came because of Hermione, but overall, the entire group was incredibly confident about their ability to save their friend and brother, and bring him home, to wizarding Britain, where he belonged.

And it was with this determination, that their journey began.

o~O~o

In retrospect, perhaps they shouldn't have camped so close to the border. But, as Hermione argued later, how were they to know that the first guard post was a mere 20 feet away?

Not that the wolves really cared, one way or another. When they finally got to them, they weren't exactly in the mood to talk.

"So," the leader sneered, glaring at the defiant wizards before him. "Wizards, 'ay? And what business would ye lot 'appen to 'ave in these parts, lov'ey?" He leered at Hermione, who gritted her teeth in reply.

"My name is Hermione Granger," she began. "This is Ronald Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Fleur Delacour, and Percy Weasley. We are here," she continued hurriedly, noticing the werewolves' dismissive looks. She drew herself up importantly, and they rolled their eyes. "To see Fenrir Grayback. If you please," she added, after a moment's hesitation. The lead werewolf stepped forward, amber eyes narrowed.

"And who might ye be, lov'ey, to think that ye lot could ge' in an' see the king, ay?" he said softly, dangerously. Hermione glared at him, drawing herself up even more.

"My name, as I said, is Hermione Granger," she said coldly. "I work for the British Ministry of Magic."

"Oh, _do_ ye, now?" the man drawled interestedly, flicking his long, greasy black hair over one shoulder in mock-impressiveness. "Is that where ye go' all yer fancy talk and whatnot?" The other wolves chuckled darkly, golden eyes dark as they stared at her shamelessly. Hermione hesitated, shifting uncomfortably and dropping her eyes.

"I…I simply wish a meeting with your king," she stammered. "If you would let us pass–"

"Oh, we'll let ye pass, lov'ey," the lead wolf murmured, golden eyes glittering dangerously. "For the right…_fee_, o' course." The wolves smirked viciously, knives appearing in their hands as they started forward. Instinctively, the group backed into a ragged circle, wands out defensively, ready to fight.

"Damien!" a voice snapped suddenly, and the wolves fell apart, golden eyes wide as they struggled to attention. Four wolves, three males and a female, pushed their way through the guards, glaring at them disgustedly. "What is the meaning of this?" The greasy-looking wolf gulped, kneeling hurriedly.

"My Lady, the wizards, they–"

"Did _what_, exactly?" the woman sneered. Her voice was young, absurdly so, and Hermione realized with surprise that she was only about eighteen or so, Ginny's age, not a warrior at all. Then she turned, smiling invitingly, and all other thoughts about her age flew out the window.

She was small, about as tall as Ginny, and slender, small-boned and delicate in appearance, but there was something in the way she moved that warned of greater strength. Her hair had been pulled back into a loose bun, stray wisps of chocolate curls falling around her face, and her wide eyes gleamed werewolf amber. She was pretty, in a dark way, freckled cheeks bunching up as she smiled, her white teeth gleaming against her tanned skin. She carried herself with the manner of a born aristocrat, though her clothes, a simple dark green tube top and brown skirt, were plain, functional. In fact, the only real jewelry she carried were the simple bronze hoops, looping all over her small ears, and a matching pendant around her neck, a simple loop-cross configuration that Hermione recognized, with surprise, as an ankh, the Egyptian symbol of life.

"Oh, my," she sighed, looking them over disinterestedly. She glanced down at the cowering werewolf with a vague sense of disappointment. "You've _really_ done it now, haven't you?"

"I'm sorry, my Lady!" Damien sobbed, groveling in the dirt. Above them, thunder crashed, lighting flashing briefly across the sky, illuminating dark clouds where before, there had been blue sky. "Please, I beg of you, don't hurt me–"

"Damien, Damien, Damien," the girl sighed, shaking her head mockingly. "You are, quite frankly, a disgrace to all of our kind." She paused, head tilting slightly in consideration, and Damien chanced a hopeful upward glance. "Which is why," she continued thoughtfully. "I shouldn't kill you."

Damien sagged to the forest floor, tears of joy pouring down his cheeks. "My Lady, I thank you–"

"Silence, fool," the girl spat, beautiful features contorting in fury. She aimed a leather-booted kick to his stomach, and he fell to the ground with a moan. "I have not given you permission to speak in my presence. Cartfield!" One of her bodyguards stepped forward, bowing his head respectfully.

"Yes, my Lady?" he said softly, and the wizards looked on in horror as they realized what she was about to do.

"Kill him," the girl ordered, smiling beatifically at the horrified wolf. The man nodded blankly, stepping forward, and, in a single, swift motion, he drew his sword, and sliced off Damien's head. "Very good," the girl said approvingly, smirking at the shocked wizards. "Now, if I may, just be clear here, what, exactly, did you want from…" She paused, glancing meaningfully at the dead body at her feet. "Our beloved, dearly departed friend?" Hermione gaped at her, stomach heaving in disgusted horror.

"Who are you?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Fifteen years earlier, five years old_

So long had been spent in preparation for this moment that, now that it had finally come, she wasn't quite sure what to do with herself.

Her mother was screaming, writhing on the bed, the other women murmuring to her in soft tones. Her father was gone, as was the tradition, for, were he there, in the room with the child, he would kill them all. She knew this, but she did not understand it, even then, and though she watched, she knew that she could never learn, not the way they wanted her to.

"Just a bit further," one woman encouraged, and her mother screamed again, a dry, rasping sound, so unlike her usual soft, warm tones. She whimpered, curling into a tiny ball, alone in the corner, wide amber eyes, endlessly watching, analyzing everything. "You're almost there."

When she was later asked what it was like, she never knew quite what to say. There was screaming, there was crying, and later, there was blood, but none of it seemed to touch her, somehow. The only part that seemed real to her, in any way at all, was later, when it was all over, and her mother and father stood quietly in the middle of the room, holding out a tiny bundle wrapped in white.

Holding it out…_to her_.

And then her mother smiled softly and said, "This is your little sister."

That was the day that everything changed.

o~O~o

_Ten years earlier, ten years old_

The smoke was everywhere, swirling, surging down her throat and burning her lungs. Sparks flew around her as she ran, her feet pounding on hard-packed earth made slippery with blood. Evil laughter echoed from the swirling darkness, screams ringing in her ears, as all around her, the village burned alive.

She ducked inside a tiny mud hut, slamming the rough wooden door shut behind her, and sagged to the ground with a sigh. Her curly brown hair was matted and tangled, framing her soot-streaked face, normally beautiful features rough with pain. Bloodshot amber eyes gazed lifelessly into nothingness, tears streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks. She trembled, clutching the dusty bundle in her arms tighter to her chest.

"_Ow_, Ana! That hurts!" a muffled voice whined, and the tattered cloth fell apart, a small girl squirming out of her sister's lap. She was young, only about five or so, golden eyes narrowed with the resilient stubbornness of a child.

"_Shh_," the older girl warned, turning slightly towards the thin slab of wood that separated them from the carnage. "We can't stay here," she murmured fearfully, half to herself. "They'll find us, I know they will…" The younger girl whimpered fearfully, gripping tightly at the filthy white rag that was her only wrapping.

"I'm scared," she whispered, golden eyes wide as she gazed innocently at her older sister. Ana hesitated, keeling to meet the smaller girl's eyes.

"It's going to be all right," she promised, wrapping her sister in the rag again. "I won't let them hurt you."

"I want Mommy," her sister whimpered, clinging desperately to her older sister's chest. Ana looked down at her, golden eyes haunted, and suddenly, she looked much older than her ten years.

"We'll find her, Ari," she assured her. Ari smiled trustingly, pulling away and cinching the makeshift shawl tighter around her head. "I promise." Then she grabbed her sister's hand and pulled her out into the fray.

o~O~o

They were almost out of the village when they found them, slipping into a back alleyway that lead straight for the forest. A few more turns, and they would have made it, slipping into the night and escaping the darkness all around them.

There were seven of them, big and muscular, lurking in the shadows so that they didn't see them coming. They stepped out behind them, grabbing at the girls, and Ari screamed as she felt her sister's hand leave her own. It took three of them to hold Ana down, even as she struggled and fought, screaming her sister's name.

"Well, well, well," the leader mused, smirking as he stepped out of the shadows. The final two shadowed his movements with practiced ease, predatory grins fixed firmly into place as they looked at the young girls. "What have we here. Is it…could it be…but it _is_." He stepped forward, stroking Ana's forehead gently. He jumped back in surprise, narrowly avoiding her spit, and smirked. "Hello, Daciana."

"Let us go," Daciana growled, amber eyes flashing in fury. "Our father–"

"Romulus is dead," the man hissed, golden eyes flaring in anger. "If not now, then soon. Your tribe is gone, your family dead. What have you to bargain with, little girl?" He turned, smirking viciously at the trembling Ari. "And little Arianna! My, my, now _this_ is exciting."

"You bastard," Daciana growled, thrashing against her captors' restraining arms. "Let her go, she didn't do anything–"

"No," the man mused, kneeling to trace over the terrified girl's left cheek. "She didn't." He smiled then, a strange, exhilarating smile. "Which makes this all the more…_interesting_, wouldn't you say?" Immediately, his fingernails elongated, forming into claws, and he slashed viciously over the young girl's left eye. Arianna screamed then, a wordless howl of pain and terror, and Daciana gave an enraged snarl, lunging forward, snapping the restraining arms with practiced ease.

"_Ari_!" she screamed, and the man only had enough time to look vaguely surprised before he crumpled to the ground with a moan, blood pouring from his throat…or the gaping wound where it had once been. The two musclemen leapt forward, in an attempt to avenge their leader, but they, too, fell, clutching at their abdomens in agony. Daciana stood, staring at the last man in wordless fury, and he backed away slowly, leaving her little sister crumpled on the ground.

"Ari," she gasped, falling to her knees. Immediately, her hands were moving, tearing at her sister's shawl and pressing the white fabric against the gushing wound on her face. "Ari, can you hear me? It's me, Ana. Ari? Say something, please, God, Ari–"

Arianna coughed weakly, glazed amber eyes staring unseeingly into her sister's searching gaze. "Ana," she whispered, and Daciana sighed in relief, scooping up her sister and clutching her tightly to her chest.

"We have to run," she murmured desperately in her sister's ear, rising shakily to her feet. "Hold on for me, ok? Just long enough till we get away, I promise." Arianna nodded dumbly, clinging tighter to her older sister, and Daciana nodded and began again, stumbling away into the forest, the promises she had made ringing in her ears.

o~O~o

_Eight years earlier, twelve years old_

Cancer. Such a small word, six simple letters, two short syllables. Love and hate, joy and pain, all wrapped up in that one tiny word.

They told her that it was genetic, and that she never could have been cured anyway. Daciana didn't care about all of that.

Her mother was dead.

Her beautiful, kind, loving mother.

Gone.

After all that she had done, all that she had failed to do, none of it mattered. They took her mother, that day, when the entire village burned in their sleep.

Their tribe was alive and well, one of the most powerful of the seven, and the name of the Redtail family, most powerful of the warrior clans, was still whispered with a touch of awed respect.

But it wasn't enough.

She tried to save her mother.

She failed.

_She sat by her mother's bedside, holding her hand as tight as she could. Too tight, probably, but she didn't care._

"_Daciana," her mother sighed. Her voice was soft, gentle, but too tight, frail and brittle…_weak_. "My little warrior."_

"_You won't die, Mother," she promised, desperately. "You _can't_! Surely, our healers can–"_

"_The healers can't help," her mother sighed, a resigned sadness in her emerald eyes as she gazed into her daughter's fiery amber. "You are a powerful sorceress, my daughter, and already a wise administrator. You will make a wonderful leader, someday." She smiled softly, encouragingly, but Daciana shook her head stubbornly, tears pooling in her golden eyes._

"_No."_

"_You were born to be a queen, my daughter," her mother said gently. "Though I will not live to see you rule. Promise me one thing," she added, her voice suddenly urgent, and her grip tightened on her daughter's hand, tight, too tight. "Promise me you'll protect your sister."_

"_Mother–"_

"_Promise me."_

But she didn't. Not that day.

It was only later, as she sat atop the roof, gazing unseeingly at the twinkling stars, that she remembered her mother's words.

The promise she never made.

And as she lay there, mournful wails ringing in her ears, she whispered softly to the sky, "I promise."

o~O~o

_Five years earlier, fifteen years old_

It was a rare thing, to see an owl.

Well, not quite as rare as one would imagine. Still, in the end, it was a _werewolf_ village, not a wizard one. Owls did not take messages from werewolves, now, did they?

No, the only real need for owls in the compound was an urgent message from the Ministry to the Lord of the tribe.

Which, of course, completely failed to explain the need for an owl addressed to the Lord's daughter.

She had been there, when it happened, when the strange bird soared down from the sky. It was a rather ungainly creature, all big wings and giant beak. She hated owls.

But Arianna leapt forward, a wide smile spreading across her face as she snatched the letter from the bird's talons. "Look, Ana!" she shouted. "It's for me!"

Daciana watched, in wordless horror, as her sister reached into the envelope and pulled out the folded piece of paper. She stood quietly as Arianna read it, beaming delightedly at the contents. Then, without a word, it was handed to her, and she looked down, reading the swirling, looping letters as they spelled out a tale of doom.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL_

_of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_~o~_

Dear Ms. Redtail,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…

To her credit, Daciana reacted as any sensible fifteen-year-old girl in her position would. After all, werewolf relations with wizardkind were strained enough as it is. Factor in her sister, the Lycan-born witch, and everything suddenly became a _lot_ more complicated.

So Daciana took a deep breath, and screamed.

And then, she fainted.

* * *

_So, a bunch of things I may have forgotten in the first chapter (oops...)_

_This story is essentially the backstory of Daciana Redtail, my OC, so if you have a problem with OC stories, don't waste both our time complaining about it._

_Secondly, I've been told I should add a Ron-bashing tag because of the line in the first chapter about him whimpering in fear and cowering behind Hermione. This has _nothing_ to do with any fear of werewolves he may or may not have, it __simply has to do with his fear of psycho girls who order murders before his eyes._

_Also, there seems to have been a bit of confusion about the whereabouts of Remus in Chapter One; this may or may not be canon, but in my interpretation of Remus, he doesn't particularly like or trust Fenrir, and, as the feeling seems to be mutual, he refused to go with them to save Bill._

_**Disclaimer:** If I were JK Rowling, I probably wouldn't be stuck in high school in Colorado, now, would I?_


End file.
